


Dreamy Directory

by CadetDru



Series: courtship genres [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Attraction, Canon Asexual Character, Gen, Light Dom/sub, Season/Series 02, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Voice Kink, compelling voice with a lower-case c, phone book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadetDru/pseuds/CadetDru
Summary: "Phone book," Jon said, setting down the folders on his desk."You need a phone book?" Martin said. He didn't know of any need to get more contact information for any of those cases."That's the cliche, isn't it? People say they could listen to so-and-so read the phone book?"
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: courtship genres [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932031
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Dreamy Directory

A week went by, Jon skulking around and Martin trying his best not to notice.They'd had an evening and a whole day together. It appeared to be the beginning and end of any kind of friendship or anything more.

Martin knocked on Jon's door at the end of the day on Friday, just as he'd done the week before. The door was cracked, Jon wasn't recording. He'd done it just to signal that it was time for normal people to leave, as a strong suggestion that Jon do the same. It had been a week of tea, of assignments, of normal disappointments and all new ones. He couldn't find the courage to invite Jon out for a drink again. It had been fine, more than fine. Martin just didn't feel comfortable pushing it any further.

"Good night," Martin said.

Jon didn't look at him, just waved for him to have a seat. The gesture was accomplished with a file folder which he then shook for Martin to take. Jon's desk was in general disarray. Martin wasn't sure how he managed to generate such chaos.

Martin sat in the chair and held the file folder, expectantly waiting for Jon to speak. Martin had made a series of assumptions, but Jon would explain it all soon. Jon was in lead, as ever. Martin held the file folder stiffly, making sure not to crease it.He sat and he waited. 

Martin checked his watch, moving his neck and his wrist rather than his whole arm so that he could maintain his grip on the folder. A minute passed, and Jon hadn't so much as looked at Martin yet.Five minutes and he still hadn't said anything, but had looked (his eyes seemed darker) directly at Martin.His expression didn't give anything away. He just looked tired as always.

Ten minutes, and he blindly handed Martin two more file folders. He seemed much calmer than he had in a long time.He was working on something, but it wasn't anything he felt like discussing. Martin could respect that. 

Martin's mind was wandering all over, but he couldn't think of leaving.He couldn't think of much of anything.Reality was different than fantasy, but Martin wanted his fantasies to be as reality based as possible.He'd daydreamed in here before, but he'd fervently tried not to have any kind of sexual fantasy while standing within the Institute. Whatever potential exhibitionistic appeal might have had was long gone, burned away by too many nights on a cot within the Institute's walls.

Sitting in silence with Jon was making him remember some of his fantasies and create some new ones.The idea of Jon taking the whole collection of file folders and using them to smack Martin's arse had never occurred to him before, but feeling them between his own fingertips was giving him new sensory details.

Fifteen minutes, and the look included a smile.It wasn't a false and generic plaster over his natural expression but it wasn't a truly wicked and evil grin either.Jon was just smiling at Martin, who he definitely knew was still there. He handed him a notepad and a pen to hold onto. 

Twenty minutes into whatever it was, Martin was still sitting as straight in his chair as he could. "Do I want to record a statement?" Jon asked. He was looking right at Martin. He wasn't expecting Jon to remember he was still in the room, let alone acknowledge him. It still felt like he was just talking to himself.

"Probably," Martin said. Jon took the files out of Martin's hands. He hoped and prayed that it wouldn't be damp from his hands. He was left just clutching the notepad.

"Phone book," Jon said, setting down the folders on his desk.

"You need a phone book?" Martin said. He didn't know of any need to get more contact information for any of those cases.

"That's the cliche, isn't it? People say they could listen to so-and-so read the phone book?"

"Oh, do they?" Martin said, with an uneasy lurch in the pit of his stomach. "A voice thing? Like, a compliment.Someone's voice is so..."

"Pleasing," Jon said.

Martin had heard other descriptors used, had used them himself when explaining why he was hung up on his unavailable boss. He just couldn't think of words to describe the smooth sonic embrace of a voice like Jon's, especially not to Jon's face.Just the word "sonic" was enough to make him cringe.

"I've never understood it," Jon said. "What appeals to your ear?"

Martin looked up at Jon, back down at the notepad in his hand. "You want me to…"

"Write a statement, and I'll record it," Jon said. He was at peace, an eerie calm overlaying him.

Martin nodded, and started to write furiously but very legibly.Jon was going to read Martin's statement, not just read the words but recite them aloud.Martin wanted to take his time, pick the perfect words, make it a perfect poem. He felt Jon's request was more urgent than that.This meant something. 

Jon even turned on the tape recorder as he read.

_Statement Begins_

I hate this, want to hate you for even asking this of me.Of course I can't.I'd say it was love at first sight, but that isn't right.You can't imagine how much I've thought about this: you reading something I wrote. You'll be the one reading this, the one talking about my own feelings.

Before I was assigned under you, I saw you. I saw the lines of silver in your dark hair, the green of your eyes. The colors drew me in, let me see the rest. Then I heard you talk, and I was gone.

Sound is important, and you know everything I'm going to say.You have a voice that commands the room. A voice of smoke and fire, rushing waves, torrential downpour, something powerful, something majestic but changeable. I can't find the right words to describe your voice and what it does to me.I want to write poems about it and I can't.You have no idea how maddening that is. 

I want you to be saying this and thinking of me hanging off every night word, paying close and careful attention. Does it change your voice at all? Does it even register? Your voice is different when you're scolding me, when you talk about me when I'm not there.I've heard the recordings, I know what you thought of me while I was busy with this whole "love at first sight" nonsense. It just made it all hit me harder.

I can hear you every day, voyeuristically consumed from near or far. It can be achieved through an open door and a voice echoing in a recorder. I try to keep it under control. It's hard enough for me to hide how I feel about you, not that I've really tried.

It's easier to be open about it. More is forgiven and given, overlooked.

_Statement Ends_

The statement itself was just Jon's voice as usual.Jon kept glancing at Martin as he recorded. His eyes seemed to glow as he recorded.It was ridiculously, just something to do with the light and reflections.When it was done, he shut off the tape player, and laid the notepad on top of it. Jon cleared his desk.

"Phone book," Martin said.Something was ebbing away from Martin, being replaced with sheer embarrassment."I'm regretting nearly every word I wrote down. It doesn't even make sense."

"I asked what appeals to you, and you answered me." Jon nodded like it made sense. "Come," he said, laying his hand on the desk.He moved his hand aside as Martin stood and walked the few steps over. 

Martin gingerly sat on the desk, worried it would break under his weight.It was stronger than he thought. He settled in.

"Thank you for indulging me," Jon said. His hand was still in the desk. 

"You're welcome," Martin said. Sitting quietly in Jon's office, looking at his hair grow more unruly, listening to Jon talk.He'd had worse evenings.

Jon rapped his fingers on the desk. "I was thinking this morning, when you brought me tea, that you'd make a lovely paperweight.Just sit here, holding the statements until you're needed to do something somewhere else." He patted Martin's knee: two pats and his hand was gone."But it was distracting, having you in here just now. This is more so.Would only be worse if you were tied up on my desk."

Martin didn't blink, pupils blowing wide.

Jon looked at his watch."Am I keeping you from anything?"

"No plans," Martin said, because the words "you can keep me as long as you like" were dangerously close to breaking through his teeth.

Jon pushed at his hair. Martin wanted to be the one running his hands through Jon's hair. "There's a clever line here about having you all alone and at my mercy, but I don't think I can make it sound intriguingly seductive instead of..." Jon trailed off.

"Serial killer," Martin said.

"Exactly." Jon said.

"I don't think you're a killer."

"You have no idea how I see you." Jon said.

Martin couldn't tell if Jon was expressing disdain or surprise.He was hard enough to read already. Martin was so close to him, sitting on his desk. Martin could feel his heart pound."No," he said. "I have no idea. I'm assuming sturdy and 'not entirely as stupid as he looks' will factor in."

"Sturdiness is good," Jon said. "It implies that you can take a lot of punishment, as it were." Jon said his hand on Martin's thigh, made eye contact, and let go.He was testing something, Martin's self control or resolve.

"I think I can take whatever you want to give me."

"That's a big promise." Jon said.

"I trust you, Jon, I don't think you'd break me but I think you'd take it close and I want that."

"You want absolution, freedom from decisions and consequence, in exchange for pain and pleasure." It was a directive, not a question.

"Yes, please."

"And you want this from me?" Jon said.

Martin didn't answer right away.

"Martin?" Jon said, a little force behind his voice.

Martin couldn't resist, couldn't lie.Martin nodded. "I didn't mean to tell you," he said in a small voice. "How did you convince me to say it?"

"Does it matter?" Jon said.

"It might."

"It really doesn't," Jon said. "There are more important things for us to consider." Jon pushed back his chair and stood. "You can get up," he said. "We're leaving."

Martin nodded. "Can I ask where we're going?"

"You're coming home with me," Jon said decisively.He seemed absolutely comfortable in his own skin. Martin didn't think he'd ever seen Jon this assured in his actions.It made him happy, even outside of the potential of it all.


End file.
